


Edges

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-28
Updated: 2009-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>From another exercise at <a href="http://panthermoon.com/generator.php"><b>The Almost Totally Random Writing Exercise Generator</b></a>: (write for) 10 minutes * reality * a bar at the edge of town. First, I most certainly didn't write for only ten minutes. Second, I can't exactly remember the second prompt. I hit refresh by mistake before copying the line. It could have been realism or something like that. In any event, I cheated basically.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Edges

**Author's Note:**

> From another exercise at [**The Almost Totally Random Writing Exercise Generator**](http://panthermoon.com/generator.php): (write for) 10 minutes * reality * a bar at the edge of town. First, I most certainly didn't write for only ten minutes. Second, I can't exactly remember the second prompt. I hit refresh by mistake before copying the line. It could have been realism or something like that. In any event, I cheated basically.

I suppose wanting to come here does make me kind of eccentric, one of those people who spends their free time in dives and dusty holes down dim alleys. There's been three fights already tonight and we've only just managed not to get pulled into the melee by sheer luck. You look at me as if you're trying to figure out why you're here, why you've let me drag you to yet another hole in the wall. It's not for anonymity although there's plenty of that here. Not for intimacy 'cause we're likely to have our heads bashed in if we so much as look at each other too long. I shrug in answer to your unasked question and take another long swallow of whisky.

This place is louder than others we've come to but it still can't drown out the deafening silence that surrounds our table. You study the random stains on the fake woodgrain, shuffle your feet to keep them from sticking too strongly to the floor. The tension is thick but contained around you, as if it would spiral out of control if you let even one aching tendril stretch toward me. Your jaw clenches for what seems like the hundredth time and once more I stifle the urge to reach for you, to stroke shaking fingers across your cheek. I force myself to stare at the jukebox in the corner, mask desire with feigned indifference.

Shouting erupts from the back of the bar. Your eyes dart over to see the start of another brawl and you drain your glass as you get to your feet. You don't spare a look at me before you turn and walk out. I finish my drink, slowly, methodically; almost get hit by the latest flying body as I stand and follow you. It smells just as stale out here as it did inside but I can still make out the trail of smoke that lingers behind you. I find you around the corner leaning against the wall, eyes studying the pavement, the small rivulet of water that sits rank in the gutter. I light a cigarette and wait, watching you, not daring to look away. When you raise your eyes there's an edge in your gaze, a signal that the games (whatever they were) are over. It's acknowledged and accepted without a word being spoken and you seem to relax but only slightly.

We start walking, nearly a mile to the the last stop on the line and almost an hour's wait before the next bus will come. We could talk, tell a few jokes, share some stories about our day, our lives. But the only noise will come from traffic and sirens and disembodied voices floating on the air.

The night will end as they always do after I've forced you to the ass end of town for no conceivable reason, no reason that someone even halfway sane could come up with at least. We'll go back to my apartment and you'll grab hold of me. It will be rough and feral, nearly violent, and I'll submit to it all willingly, desperately, encouraging the bruises and the teeth marks. You'll leave before the sun has started to rise, the sky still lit only by city lights, and I'll try yet again to pour the night onto another canvas, try to make sense of the wrong turns that brought us here.


End file.
